I'm sorry, I'm lost
by Hitokoei
Summary: (Mature subject matter) Discovering who he is is the hardest thing Rufus has done. Accepting it could kill him.
1. Prologue, Part I

Prologue, Part I

There was a rose on the table. Beside it, an empty coffee cup that was, for some reason, clean. Only one chair was placed at the table, pushed half way in. The table was put in front of a window that looked out upon the ocean. The walls of the dining hall were a deep maroon, like that of his father's business suits. They were dark at night, and the priceless paintings and the elaborate light fixtures upon them were faint objects in the colorless night. To the left of the table was an entrance to a hallway that led to a vast library library. To the right was a closed door that opened into an equally massive kitchen. President Shinra once held massive parties in this area of the mansion, but his death brought change. Rufus, his socially inept son, lived there alone, ate alone, and worked alone. He had a house that could host and comfort almost one hundred residents and he was the only one that ever stepped foot inside it.

Shinra was destroyed, along with the city its fortunes were kept in. The thirty-three year old man was destroyed as a result of the ten years following meteor. He grieved for something, but was unsure of what. He had closed himself off from the world and was unaware of anything outside of his large, empty home.

He did not call it that.

His worst memories played in his mind night after night. He saw his mother, dancing with his father when he was two. He saw her, in bed, with a stranger when he was six. He saw her dead the next day, with his father and a gun stooping over the body. He saw the empty walls of his room, and the shadow of a menace approaching the corner, and he was struck. He saw the blood pouring from his nose when he was eleven, and his father stooping over him the same way he had seen him over his mother. At twelve, the horror stopped. He was sent to a private school to learn how to become his father's son.

He had scars from his return at eighteen, and scars from his rebellion at nineteen. At twenty, Rufus stayed in Junon. His father could not touch him there, but managed to control him using precious gil. He was forced into a military life. This, too, gave him scars. At twenty-one, he commanded the Turks in his first test of freedom. The bastard allowed him his own life in exchange for the lives of others. Here, Rufus formed a delicate, loose friendship with Tseng and the young recruit, Elena. The only thing that held it together was the small sense of hope Rufus allowed him. For the next two years, he became a man he liked and kept as little contact with his father as possible. He gained freedom at twenty-three and smiled at the sight of steel buried in his father's heart of metal and mako.

And the day after, he found himself fighting tears and watching blood drip onto the marble surface of the desk the old man died at. The tears were not for his father. They were not for Rufus. They were not for Shinra or the Turks. They had no meaning. The blood from his lip came from trying to hide back the streams from his eyes.

Rufus Shinra quickly fell into routine, faking emotions and lying. He became his father at the same age: eager, repressed, and entirely false. His second chance of life cut through his facade and allowed for emotion to show. But what good was it when the only thing to see him sad or vengeful was the mirror in his bathroom?

Life goes on, but only for those not holding on to some invisible thing they cannot identify. For Rufus, this killed him. He was no longer a man, but a zombie going through task after task and doing only the bare minimum to keep himself alive. His only passion was something instilled in him by his father, whose drunken masquerades required waltzes and scherzi played on the family's grand piano. When he would play, it touched on that invisible thing, but gave no clue to its name or face.

Ten years allowed him time enough to play through the repertoire housed in the library. He had mastered every one of the piano pieces he owned. Repeating a work was pointless. His only passion was without fuel. Realizing this, Rufus made a decision to break routine and venture out into the world for the first time since coming back from the wreckage of Midgar.

Stepping out of the house made him feel worthless without reason.

Each step granted Rufus new knowledge, and he looked at things for the first time with his heart, and not the judgmental, critical eyes inherited from his dethroned name.

Rufus Shinra had forgotten the world. He had forgotten the way to the city.

Rufus Shinra was lost.


	2. Prologue, Part II

Prologue, Part II

Ten years is a long time. In this time, people change outwardly. Most stay the same on the inside. Others forget who they are and what they were going to become. Rufus Shinra had only one goal in mind when he was head of Shinra Inc.: To realize his inhibition and lose it. Before his father became a cruel, despicable creature, Rufus was playful and cute. It was like watching a puppy. He would play on the floor and do something and people would smile. There was little hint of what he was capable of becoming. Old Man Shinra had always had it in mind that Rufus would succeed him to the throne of his father's father's grandfather's company, but back then, there was no devil in his thoughts. Puppies are easily manipulated. Once the old man started suspecting his wife of being unfaithful and turning to alcohol and lies to control his anger, Rufus was already walking on the concrete river, following in his father's long, abysmal shadow. He was like that now, with his head down, without a personality, following a shadow. In ten years, Rufus was no longer Rufus, but a blank slate ripe for teaching and abuse.

He had not intended for things to go as they did. His first few days out of the hospital were typical of anyone who has just met death. People came with flowers and well wishes, full of insincerity and false concern, and then they would leave. Rufus would sit, watching them go on their way, with _sake_ in hand. There would be music playing, something from an opera to match his mood. He would walk over to the piano, play until his burned hands would no longer allow him, and then hobble to his bed upstairs. By then, he would not have the energy to remove his clothing or even climb under the covers, and he would pass out until the next morning; not from being drunk--he never got drunk--but from a complete lack of drive and energy. When the people stopped coming after the third or fourth day, Rufus found himself taking a liking to his solitary days at home with his music and dreams. And then, they turned to nightmares. First, they came as fires; glass flying at him, explosions bringing down his office, and then falling into the slums, and waking up. Then, they recalled his days with the Turks. He would be sitting in a helicopter, looking out of a window, but able to see in the reflection Tseng, Elena, and Reno. Rude would be in the co-pilot's seat, out of view and with his mouth shut. This would be a dream if only adolescent longing didn't take over his thoughts. As his the nightmares got worse, they would revert to his days in the military. He was never assigned any missions. He was never viewed as capable. Rufus was the president's son, which automatically made him a spoiled brat, unable to perform physically demanding tasks. The others would surround him in the bunkroom, seeing him talking to daddy on his phone, lying with the most precious detail. And then they would hit him.

The floor was gray and smelled. He was naked. They were, too, but only because they had just showered. There was always a foot on the back of his neck, keeping him from fighting back or trying to get up. His lip would bleed to keep his eyes from watering while they inserted any phallic-shaped object they could find into him. Rufus, at 21, was still a virgin and had no sexual thoughts. The hazing repressed all natural desire further into him.

This was the worst of his nightmares for quite some time. At the end, he would always see his father standing in front of him, instructing the soldiers to ruin his son. This, thankfully, only occurred in his nightmares. As the years went on, the subject matter of his nightmares always centered on his father. He would wake up, still clothed, sweating, and grieving over his life. To escape his thoughts, he turned to music. An hour let him forget his father. Two let him forget his mother. Three let him forget himself. The pattern continued. In ten years, he never left the house. He never traveled beyond the piano in the main reception area and never beyond his oversized bed in the master suite on the third floor. While he was still himself, he managed to secure his assets and gather his money. This allowed Rufus to leave money on the doorstep and find groceries and clothing the next time he opened it. Outside of the calls he would place to the aid service, he had no other contact. After five years, the phone calls stopped. They were unnecessary since every week would eat up the same food and drink the same drinks. Routine became Rufus Shinra.


	3. Discovery

Chapter I: Discovery

Walking for any distance was unusual for Rufus. At any time, there would be a helicopter or an airship or, at worst, a chocobo waiting for him. The only walking he had to do would be an effortless stroll from one room to another, or perhaps, one building to the next. Now, he was surrounded by greens, browns, and the careless, ambiguous blue sky that had no end. Only a small shadow stood on the horizon, beyond the aching ground. It had no definite shape and could not be identified. An hour of walking ruined Rufus. Sweat was all he had to hydrate himself with, even though the day was not hot. Two hours of walking made the shadow in the distance larger. It's shape now resembled something more familiar, a town or village. Three hours made this apparent. Rufus could not give a name to it, but he recognized where it was he was heading. His white t-shirt was soaked with sweat. His feet were sore.

"_Rufus, this town is called Kalm. Can you say Kalm_?" A female's voice replaced a heartbeat. "_We own this town, now. Mako energy powers every home and store here. The stupid villagers are indebted to us now_." A man's voice triggered anger. "_We welcome the new era of Rufus Shinra with open homes! Our president is a good leader." _Now, he heard many voices. He saw the faces of people mouthing these words of admiration. His father was dead and now he reigned and the people loved him for no reason at all. The memories stopped coming when a tear escaped from his eye. He did not cry because he was sad, happy, angry, or in pain. He only shed one tear but was unaware of its meaning.

Small places do not change like big places. The only change was the centerpiece of the town, which had disappeared in favor of a statue of a hero. Its hair formed spikes, and an oversized sword hung tightly behind the statue's back. A plaque read: "A hero is a man who does not know he is a hero. A hero is a man who does what he wants to because it feels right. The Town of Kalm proudly remembers and honors Cloud Strife." A homeless man sat in its shadow.

"Excuse me." The sound of his own voice startled Rufus.

"I ain't took yer food!" The homeless man stuffed a pickle down the front of his shirt while turning to look at the speaker.

"Is this man dead?"

"I said I ain't took yer food, now what'ya want with me?" It was now obvious that he was drunk.

"...Is Cloud dead?" The feeling of impatience had returned without problem to Rufus.

"Yep, that ol' boy died just right over there a few years ago." The man pointed outside of town. "Papers say it were a heart attack. You got money for my cup?" From behind his back, he dug out a small cup filled with various coins. Rufus had already gone off in a different direction.

The view outside of town was becoming gray. Streetlights came on. Rufus Shinra had no money to satisfy his stomach at the pub, and he had only enough energy to carry himself to the inn to inquire about a room. He had never seen the inside of it before. It was bright. Shades of brown reflected the yellow light in all directions.

"Welcome. Can I help you?" A female in pink met Rufus's gaze, smiling. He gave her no response. He had not heard her say anything. Everything was new to him again. He was a child. "Excuse me. Can I help you, sir?" Rufus walked outside, slowly making his way to the homeless man.

"Money for the cup fund! Money for the cup fund!" Drunken shouting filled the courtyard while nameless people shuffled to and fro. Rufus stood next to the old man for a few seconds, looking at the cup dangling between two scarred fingers.

"I want that cup." He didn't know what he was doing. "I'll give you something if I can have that cup and the money inside it."

"You say you want my cup fund? I ain't givin' it to ya."

"We can trade. You smell bad and your shirt is dirty. My shirt for your cup." He would be wearing only khakis if the man accepted.

"Aw what the hell's wrong with you folks these days, always lookin' to take off yer clothing. I tell ya, when Rufus was president things'd never be like this." Hearing his own name in that context shattered his thoughts. "Here, take the cup, but you can't have the money. It's special to me. Cloud looks after it for me." The smelly creature dumped out the money into his free hand and pushed the cup into Rufus's chest.

"I want the money, too. I'm sure this shirt was expensive. You'll pay me for it." He was falling into the role he once played with startling ease.

"I ain't got enough money to buy yer clothes from ya! Alls I got here is a thousand gil, an' I'm saving it for a hooker."

"I'm going to have you arrested for loitering. Isn't that still illegal here?"

"Fine! Fine! Do whatever ya want to, damn hooligan. Just give me the damn shirt and get outta here, you're taking away business!" He dropped the coins back in to the cup and handed it to Rufus.

The former president took it and walked back to the inn. His shirt was still on.


	4. Nobody Sleeps

The room smelled similar to the maroon conference room at the Shinra Headquarters. The bed, too, was covered in maroon. Rufus conjured up his father's presence whenever the shade of red was around him. It trapped him, even now, as it did in the mansion, and as his father did after his mother's death.

Rufus had stolen the homeless man's money twice to pay for a room he would not leave except to steal money again. In the day, he would leave the blinds closed and sleep. At night, he would stare at the window and try to remember every day of his life up until the day he should have died. The teardrops had already formed a small stain on the wooden ledge of the window.

On the third night, the homeless man was found dead behind the tavern. The statue in the center of town was missing its plaque.

Since the hotel was no longer an option, Rufus took home in front of the tavern. Assuming he was the new homeless man, townsfolk threw money at him, spit at him, and treated him like a cute, but smelly puppy. A stranger threw a cigarette to him.

"You look like you could use that. Have a light." The man tossed a metal lighter to Rufus, and sat down next to him. "What's your story?"

Silence.

"I lost my son. He died in a car accident delivering groceries to some mansion just left of nowhere. It probably happened about four years ago, but I'm too drunk to think about it." The stranger stretched out his legs, bent one knee up, and rested his elbow across it. "How 'bout you?"

Rufus hadn't looked at him and sat awkwardly, trying to restrain his coughs between puffs. "I haven't played the piano in three days. I feel like I'm dying." He lowered his head and threw his cigarette at a passerby's foot.

The stranger snickered. "Want to go somewhere and play? It's late, but I can probably find something for you. Kinda queer, though, saying the piano keeps you alive or something." Rufus smirked, but happily. It was forced. He saw camera flashes in his head, and crowds of people shouting at him. It was that kind of a smirk.

"When you have nothing, keeping your mind from something is the only way to stay alive."

Both men got up. Rufus walked one way; the stranger walked another. They never made eye contact.

The sun was rising. The papers had been delivered to their proper place. The top headline read: "Innocent dies defending town heirloom."

Rufus left town that morning.


	5. Where to?

"Hey, buddy. You need a ride somewhere?" The image of a stained man facing a rusting truck sat in front of the horizon. Rufus had found a road and followed it, and now he was faced with the first decision he had to make since leaving his residence. "You look like you need a hospital or somethin'. Hop in, I'll take you in to the city." All Rufus could manage was a slight nod, barely noticeable, before walking to the passenger side of the vehicle and climbing in.

"There ya go. Put your belt on, it's a long drive and this road gets a lot of official types traveling it." The hollow man did as he was instructed, staring emptily at the distance. "What's your name?" Rufus finally noticed the man's face. There was nothing special about it. The man was neither interesting nor attractive, nor ugly nor disfigured. Two brown eyes, brown hair, stubble, and a small birthmark on his cheek.

"Rufus."

"Ah, nice to meet'cha, Rufus. The name's Kellan. Put 'er there." Kellan extended his hand, which Rufus acknowledged by shaking it loosely. "So where you headed?"

"Nowhere. I'm lost." He only managed to mumble this out after clearing his throat.

"Where you from?"

"An asshole and his whore." Rufus rested his arm against the door and leaned his head into his hand.

"Heh, well, not much you can do about that, is there? What'ya say we get some food before heading to Midgar?" Rufus was annoyed by the man's way of speaking.

"I don't have money and I smell bad."

"I wasn't going to say anything, but if you keep the winda down, it shouldn't be too bad." He started the truck and accelerated gradually. It swerved slightly while he cranked the window handle; Rufus did the same.

No conversation took place after Kellan's last comment. Rufus twitched his fingers against the armrest, imagining music coming from each motion. Kellan kept his eyes on the road and help up his left arm in the windowpane. The truck made the ground a slideshow and the sky a slow-moving set piece.

_Father wouldn't approve_, he thought. _Father..._it was then that he noticed bloodstains on his shirt, pants, and hands. _I can't get rid of you, can I, old man? You've been dead forever, and you still follow me around. Bastard. _The ground shook as the truck rolled over a bump. _I'm just like you. When I was younger, I was scared of you. You led me, as well as others, by fear, didn't you? You raised me to be exactly what you wanted because you knew I wouldn't notice. Fuck you._ He looked up and saw his hands in front of his face.

"What happened that you got so bloody, kid?" Kellan glanced over for a second, nodding at Rufus's hands. "Get in a fight or what? Lemme tell ya, lots of punks out there these days." Each sentence was audible rape to the president's ears.

"I may have been drunk. It doesn't matter." Slowly, the sight of polished black and silver rolled into view. Midgar had been rebuilt to look almost identical to its former self, complete with the high-rising tower that overlooked the floating pizza. _I'm home_.

"That's too bad. Best fights is the ones you remember. We can get a room in Sector 4 so you can get cleaned up, unless you want to head out on your own once we get through the gate." Kellan scratched his crotch through his pants, making no effort to hide it. Rufus coughed and nervously looked away, trying not to gag. _Two miles left._

"A shower would be nice. Will we be staying at the Chateau de Luna?" _If they rebuilt it..._

Kellan chuckled, bringing with it the contents of his lungs. After projecting the mucus out of the window, he stopped the truck. "You said you ain't got money, and I sure as hell can't afford that place. No hotel for us, no siree. It'll be the Sector 4 Sleep Suite. Cheapest place around."

"Just get me to a shower." The red smeared across his clothing made Rufus feel as if his father was imprisoning him. Nothing, it seemed, would keep the old man from Rufus.


End file.
